


The Fall

by pikachumaniac



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Dragons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikachumaniac/pseuds/pikachumaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Names are important,” the dragon said. “Surely even you must know that.”</i><br/><i>He ignored the barb, which was more teasing rather than outright mocking. “Is that why you will not give me your name?</i>”<br/><i>“No.” The dragon’s smugness, while irritating, did wonders to smooth the bitter lines of his face. “I did not give you my name because you never thought to ask for it.”</i><br/><i>Q flushed at this pointed reminder of his appalling lack of manners, but attempted to cover for it by asking politely, “Then may I inquire what your name is?”</i><br/><i>“Bond,” the dragon replied. “James Bond.”</i><br/><br/>In which Q is tasked with taming a dragon, James declines to be tamed (although he wouldn’t mind getting to know the young upstart a bit more), and both learn how to stop falling to the earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      “You’re younger than I expected.”

      The words were nothing if not contemptuous, which he supposed was a departure (if not an entirely welcome one) from the usual response people had to his appearance. Bemusement, curiosity, and, more often than not, despair at his youth were common enough, but he had yet to encounter such outright disdain. Still, seeing how he had already made the journey here, Q fixed a bland smile onto his face as he noted patiently, “I get that a lot, sir.”

      Perhaps sensing that the scorn was mutual, the captain snorted. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well see the damn monster.”

      “The monster?” he repeated, following the man through the stone halls. The captain’s pace was punishingly quick – a deliberate decision, no doubt – but not nearly enough to distract him from what was being said. “You have him _here_?”

      The captain looked back, not to confirm that he was keeping up but to make clear that the man thought he was, at best, dull-witted. “Of course we’re keeping it here,” the captain snapped as he stopped before a heavy wooden door, fortified by iron. “You didn’t actually think we would be foolish enough to let it roam free, after what it did?”

      When he didn’t respond, the captain smiled triumphantly and returned to his task of undoing the locks, having clearly decided that the argument was settled in his favor. The matter was far from settled though, as the very thought of keeping a dragon was positively barbarous. _You can’t lock them up_ , had been Boothroyd’s very first lesson to him when the old man had started his training. _Not unless you want to destroy it completely_.

      Destruction had never been Boothroyd’s aim though, nor was it his. Dragons were dangerous, undoubtedly so, but that did not make them monsters that should be slaughtered. His goal was always to reason with them, to help them on their way, but how was he supposed to do that _now_ , he thought despairingly as the door opened to reveal a passage winding down into the castle’s stone depths. It had taken him a week to journey here, and then he needed to account for the time needed for Lord White’s messenger to reach him in the first place. More than enough time for a dragon to go half-mad, especially in this underground cage where the sky could not be seen.

      _I should not have come here_ , he thought not for the first time. This castle’s lord had an unsavory reputation, one that was amply deserved based on what he had seen so far. But one could hardly say ‘no’ to a powerful lord who viewed rejection as a personal affront, not if one wanted to be left in peace.

      He suspected that there would be no peace now though, not for himself or the dragon. At most he could seek to have this matter sorted as quickly as possible, to at least limit the dragon’s suffering, but he wondered if he could manage even that now.

      Reluctantly, he followed the captain’s descent down the stone steps. Again, the man moved quickly, heedless (or not caring) of the danger he was so blithely heading towards. Q, in contrast, moved gingerly, his nose twitching slightly, like a rabbit’s upon sensing that a predator was close by. Every instinct screamed for him to run, preferably in the other direction, but the captain did not seem to notice it. Most people rarely did, he had to remind himself, rather than try to attribute that particular failing to the man’s stupidity.

      Not that he was stupid. Captain Mitchell might be callous and cruel, but he was certainly not stupid, which made it all the more clear that he and the master he served were not people to be trifled with.

      After what seemed like an eternity of spiraling steps, they stopped before another door, even more intimidating than the last. Q was completely unable to control his shivering now, an unhappy consequence of both the damp cold and anxiety over what he would find beyond the door. The captain smirked at that, asking with feigned politeness, “If this is too much for you to handle, we can always head back. I’m sure Lord White will be able to find someone to take your place.”

      Someone _competent_ , was the clear implication. The wave of irritation warmed if not his body, then at least his mind as he retorted, “You’re welcome to go back if you like.” He gestured at the stairs behind, although the effect was diminished by a badly timed shudder. “Just make sure to leave me the keys on your way out.”

      That was probably a mistake, he thought as the captain’s face darkened, but it had been too long a journey to ensure such ridicule. He could admit that he was young, especially compared to others in this business, but last he checked, age was no guarantee of efficiency. And he was efficient, when it came to dragons, so the last thing he needed to do was prove himself to this bastard, even if the man was considering smashing his head into the stone wall.

      Wisely deciding that his master would not like that, not after the effort that had been put into finding this upstart dragon tamer, the captain turned back to the door although he made no effort to hide his curses from Q. But the angry words were quickly lost beneath the groan of wood and iron swinging forward, and Q peered inside, blinking into the darkness. Although he could not see far, he could immediately tell that this dungeon was not near big enough to house even the smallest of dragons. So how-?

      It was his turn to curse as a torch was lit, but as soon as his eyes adjusted, he gasped at the sight before him. He had the answer to his question now because what was before him was no dragon, but a twisted creature that despite a humanoid figure, would never have passed for human himself.

      _A shape-shifter_.

      In all his years of dragon taming, he’d seen and worked with dragons of every conceivable type, the one exception being those that could shed their scales and walk among other humans without detection. Shape-shifters were legendary in his profession, although many believed that was all they were – _legends_. Even those who were open to the possibility of their existence doubted that they would live to see one. The most common of dragons were already extremely clever, and the intelligence and sheer power that would be needed to shift so readily… it was incalculable.

      Yet somehow Lord White had got his hands on just such a being, trapping him in this terrible stage of _between_. Shortly cropped gold hair gave way to half-formed scales that laced across his skin, exposing it like cracks in a sun-baked earth. Fingers curled into silver-black claws, dangerously sharp. But most evident was half a ragged wing that hung limply from his back, too small for any proper-sized dragon but far too large for this cramped cage.

      “Impressive, isn’t he?”

      Q startled, just barely managing to keep his composure as he turned to stare at an older gentleman. He didn’t need to see the captain bowing to know that they were in the presence of Lord White; the ridiculously expensive (yet efficiently practical, unusual for a man of this stature) clothing was more than enough. He wondered a bit too late whether he should also bow, but the lord seemed uninterested in his lack of manners as he stepped closer to the bars that separated them from the dragon. “Have you ever seen anything of his like?”

      “I haven’t had the pleasure, my lord,” he answered quietly, returning his attention to the pitiful sight. Steel chains wrapped around not only each of the dragon’s limbs but his neck as well, no doubt burning the skin from the icy cold.

      “The pleasure,” Lord White chuckled. The chained man stirred at the sound, but the lord paid him no heed, instead continuing, “Richard Lyon. I’ve heard many stories about your successes taming these monsters, but surely you’re not one of those tamers who believe the beasts should be coddled, are you? That would be very disappointing.” Lord White shook his head, either anticipating Q’s response or deciding that he was uninterested in the answer. “You understand why we had to bring it here, do you not? It destroyed an entire city, this one. Those who escaped the flames, it hunted down. It did not even have the decency to burn them too, but stayed in its human form and tore through their bodies with its bare hands. It only started to shift to flee my army, but we were able to take it down before it got far. I could not let it go to hurt more of my people.”

      Q rather suspected that the lord’s actions had little to do with his people, but he knew better than to point out his misgivings. “And why would he want to hurt them in the first place?”

      Well, to a certain point. He had never been good at holding his tongue, much to Boothroyd’s dismay (and pride), but little made sense about the story.

      The lord took it in stride, shrugging slightly. “Who knows what goes on in the mind of a mad beast? I cannot begin to understand how it thinks, if it even does. But then, I suppose that is why I have you here.”

      He swallowed hard, his dry mouth having far less to do with the dragon than the clear threat that was on his side of the bars. “That depends.”

      The captain made a sound of outrage, but the lord held up a hand, an icy smile fixed in place. “Depends on what, exactly? I can assure you, money is no object.”

      Q was sure it was not, although whether the lord would be more likely to pay than throw him in a cell of his very own was up for debate. That was a different matter though, as he looked straight into Lord White’s dark eyes and said, “It depends on what you intend to do with him.”

      “That’s not your concern,” Captain Mitchell snarled, looking like he dearly regretted his decision not to bash Q’s head in earlier.

      Q ignored the man, focusing his attention on the lord. “In my experience, dragons are not to be trifled with. It is best for everyone to come to an understanding, and to let them on their way.”

      “And that is how it shall be,” Lord White agreed. “If you can ensure that the beast does no more damage to my people, then of course it will be free to go its way.”

      It was also his experience that people who went to the trouble of chaining a dragon in the first place did not so readily agree to releasing it, but he nodded all the same. He did not think challenging the man on this would be to anyone’s benefits, and right now he had a job to do. Many in his profession treated dragon taming as a contest between man and beast, but he was not one of them. Whatever he had done, this dragon was in pain, and even in its unconsciousness its agony permeated through Q’s senses and made his head throb terribly. He would handle the dragon now and Lord White later.

      Or so he could hope.

      The old man smiled, or at least his mouth did. His eyes remained cold and cruel, even if his voice was pleasant as he said, “Then we are in agreement. I’m sure you have had a long journey, so I will have Captain Mitchell show you to your quarters, and-”

      “Actually,” he cut off the false civilities firmly, “I would like to get to work now, my lord.”

      That seemed to please the man. “Certainly, if you feel up to it. I shall leave you to it.” But rather than leave, Lord White paused at the door and turned back towards him to ask, “Tell me, Lyon. Have you ever flown on one of these beasts before?”

      Q struggled to suppress his shudder at the very thought. “No, I’m afraid not.”

      “Really? I thought all of you people wanted to fly.”

      _Not when you dream of falling every night_ , he thought darkly. _Not when you plummet from the sky, screaming all the way down._ Instead, he said, “I have never had the interest, personally. Anyone who attempted to ride a dragon like a horse is only asking for their early demise.”

      “I see,” was the simple reply before the man left. Q did not know what Lord White ‘saw,’ but something about the words made him feel like he had made the mistake of revealing too much of himself.

* * *

      It took Q some time to convince the captain to leave them in peace as well. The man seemed determined to stay, not out of concern for Q’s continued well-being but to bear witness to his (no doubt inevitable, in the bastard’s mind) failure. What ended up deciding the man was not Q, but the awakening of the dragon, who took one look at his audience and let out a roar that would have sent any grown man running. Both Q and Captain Mitchell managed to hold their ground, but just barely.

      A part of Q wished he could follow the captain straight out of the dungeon, especially when bright blue eyes fixated on him, stripping him bare. The rest of him, overcome by curiosity at being in the presence of such a being, stepped closer, not stopping until he reached the metal bars. He should have demanded the key before the captain had fled, but there was not much he could do about that now.

      He settled inside for greeting quietly, “Hello.” Any pride he had at his voice not wavering faded quickly as the dragon continued to stare at him, never blinking. “My name is Richard Lyon, but you can call me Q, if you like.”

      “Q?” The dragon’s voice was low and harsh from not only disuse, but the half-formed fangs that protruded painfully from (and likely into) all too human lips. “Why Q? Your name does not start with the letter.”

      He blinked. To be honest, he had no idea what to expect from this encounter – he rarely did; dragons were notoriously fickle and above all, _unique_ , making predictions an exercise in futility that he did not wish to waste his time on – but it was certainly not that. Humans were generally beneath the notice of dragons, and not just figuratively. Q had always assumed that from such lofty heights, humans must seem quite meaningless, so it was a surprise that this one would be so concerned with his name.

      “Lyon doesn’t fit you either,” the dragon decided. “You’re much more a kitten than a lion.”

      “Nevertheless-” he started, only to stop as the man straightened from his crouch, the half-formed scales rippling across his skin in the torchlight. Q did not move as slowly, painfully, the dragon came towards him, claws digging into the stone floor. It was only when the chains pulled taut that he stopped, still eyeing Q with – _incredibly_ , considering his terrible circumstances – amusement.

      “You’re very young,” the dragon said, his eyes sparking. The chains did not quite allow him to reach the bars, but he was close enough that Q could see that his pupils were slitted, like a reptile’s. “Barely even a hatchling.”

      He couldn’t help his glare. “Not you too.”

      The dragon grinned. His smile was bloody. “You still have _spots_.”

      Q started to retort, but stopped himself. He had never engaged with a dragon like this before, but then, no dragon had been able to talk back like this one. Perhaps it was strange that he would feel more at ease when no common language was shared, but there was something about the dragon here that made him feel out of his element, even more so than his first lesson with Boothroyd. It was as if he had no idea what to do now. Granted, he rarely did, letting his instincts take over, but right now his only instinct was to run.

      He could not, of course. Not only would Lord White likely not take it well, but for all his levity, the dragon before him was hurt and in pain. Q had never been good with pain, unlike many in this business. Where others used steel to tame the dragons, Boothroyd had seen a more effective tact for him.

      _You have a way with them_ , his mentor had explained. _You can make them understand you._ And as always, Boothroyd was right. Until now, anyway.

      “You remember why you’re here?” he asked finally, his fingers curling around the bars.

      A huff of laughter was answer enough, but that didn’t stop the dragon from adding, “Of course. Do you?”

      “Did Lord White speak the truth?” he countered. This wasn’t about him, after all, and it was time he reminded them both of that.

      “Which part?” the dragon replied, deceptively casual. “I know better than to listen to that human.”

      Q very much doubted that, remembering the way the dragon had stirred when the lord had laughed. “The part where you killed all those people.”

      A pause. Although it lasted barely a second, Q knew that the dragon was more affected than he was letting on. “Yes, that part is true.”

      He found himself asking for the second time, “Why?”

      “Why not?”

      Like the lord, the dragon seemed no more forthcoming with an explanation, but this time, Q was not willing to so readily back down as he said, “You must have had a reason.”

      “Must I?” The dragon’s smile, although fixed in place, no longer reached his eyes, which were now flat and dark. “I thought I was a mindless monster that enjoyed killing for fun. Besides-” he continued, cutting off any possible response Q might have had, “I don’t see why it matters. Humans slaughter each other all the time, for no reason I can see. So why should it matter when I do the killing? I’m only doing to them what they would do to themselves.”

      Q tilted his head slightly, staring at the dragon. The dragon’s point made a disturbing amount of sense, but not in the context of their current situation. This seemed a diversion, not a reason for his actions. Still, he asked, “You understand humans well then, do you?”

      “Better than you, I expect.” The dragon considered him thoughtfully, before saying with deadly seriousness. “You’re different from the other humans. You shouldn’t be here. You should leave, while you still have the chance.”

      “I can’t,” he replied immediately.

      If Q thought the dragon looked angry before, it was nothing compared to his rage now, which was more than enough to make him step back. “Perhaps I misjudged you,” the dragon snarled. “Let me assure you, kitten, there is no need to sell your services to that human. There will be plenty of opportunities for gold later.”

      “You most certainly misjudge me if you think that is my reason,” he snapped. But when the dragon raised a curious eyebrow, clearly waiting for more, he kept his mouth stubbornly shut. He owed the dragon no explanation, including the fact that he knew exactly what happened to people who refused powerful lords, having seen it for himself when Boothroyd had put principles over practicality. After he had buried his mentor, he’d made it a point to never stay anywhere for long, yet regardless Lord White had been able to hunt him down so readily. He’d known then that he had no true choice, having no interest in a painful death.

      And even then, as he glared at the dragon, he knew that he had reasons of his own to stay.

      “Hrm,” the dragon said gruffly, turning and retreating back into the darkness, his claws scraping along the floor as he went. “Regardless, you should not be here. I hope I will not see you tomorrow, but I suspect that I will.”

      It was hardly an apology, but Q knew it was as close as he would get. He also knew that the dragon was dismissing him, and although he did not want to leave the dragon in this state, there was little point in staying now.

      “Tomorrow then,” he said quietly, and left when no response was forthcoming.

* * *

      Q was relieved when he was met at the top of the stairs not by the captain, but a page boy who quickly showed him to his quarters. The room he had been given was large, if sparsely furnished, and he could not help but notice that the door locked only from the outside. Still, there was supper, a hot bath, and a warm bed waiting for him, although he ended up foregoing two of the three and falling straight into a deep slumber.

      But no matter how deeply he slept, he knew where he would find himself. He screamed as he fell, the wind offering no resistance as he plummeted to the ground. Every night he dreamed of this, of the terror of watching the sun grow smaller and the earth come closer, ready to break every bone in his fragile body. Nothing he did would slow his descent, nothing he tried would stop the dream. He could only endure, his lungs burning as he shrieked, desperately waiting for morning to come.

* * *

      The next morning, Q did not go immediately to the dragon. As used as he was to falling, he knew the importance of routine to calm his nerves and compose himself.

      He broke the morning fast by himself, preferring to avoid the captain’s thinly veiled insults by begging some food off the castle’s chef. She was only too pleased to accommodate him, clucking about his weight (or pitiful lack thereof) while giving him far more food than he could ever consume himself.

      He would have also preferred to take his meal outside the castle proper, but whether it was because he was afraid that he would be refused leave or because he worried that he would not be permitted back, he did not even try. Instead, he took refuge in the library, which made up for its lack of books with an expansive view of the ocean in all her glory. For all the man’s shortcomings, Q had to at least admire Lord White’s ancestors, particularly the one who had the audacity to build this castle here, right at the edge of the cliffs. Rather than be intimidated by the sheer drop from land to sea, he’d ordered that this sprawling mass of stone be erected here, to stand proudly as the waves battered at the rock, trying to get at this latest symbol of humanity’s defiance.

      But humans were not the only ones who were defiant, so it was not long after that Q made his way down to the dungeons again. There was no sky there, only the distant roar of the waves desperate to break in and a half-man, half-dragon curled in the dark.

      “You know, your name really does not suit you,” the dragon greeted before the door had even fully opened, apparently having returned to his previous levity.

      “Why are you so caught up with my name?” he inquired as he lit the torch before letting the door swing shut, turning to face the dragon.

      Again, he was as close to the bars as the chains would allow him, a grim smile on his lips. There was less blood now, so the dragon was taking care to avoid the delicate skin of his mouth, a concern he was doubtless not used to when in either form. “Names are important,” the dragon said. “Surely even you must know that.”

      He ignored the barb, which was at least teasing rather than outright mocking like the captain’s. “Is that why you will not give me your name?”

      “No.” The dragon’s smugness, while irritating, did wonders to smooth the bitter lines of his face. “I did not give you my name because you never thought to ask for it.”

      Q flushed, realizing that the dragon was right. Although he could remind himself that he hardly ever had the opportunity to ask a dragon its name, that hardly excused his rudeness now. “Forgive me,” he said finally. “May I inquire then as to your name?”

      “Of course,” the dragon replied generously, indicating himself with a clawed hand. “Bond,” he introduced, his smile threatening to devour Q whole. “James Bond.”


	2. Chapter 2

      “James Bond,” he repeated slowly, and the dragon’s eyes closed, apparently pleased by the sound of his own name. Dragons truly were arrogant creatures, which may or may not have been why he said, “Then you really are not one to talk. Your name does not seem to suit you either.”

      Bond’s eyes immediately flew open, and the dragon looked nothing short of offended. But his offense could not mask the way he looked Q over with renewed interest even as he said a touch sulkily, “James Bond is a very good name.”

      “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good name,” Q replied with a shrug, perhaps enjoying the dragon’s injury a bit more than he should. “I just expected something more grand and ostentatious.” He paused. “You seem the sort.”

      “Do I really?” Bond grinned a smile that had far too many teeth, a wholly unnecessary reminder that the dragon was not to be trifled with, no matter how willing he was to indulge in playful banter. “Is that why you’re here? Because I am so very grand and ostentatious?”

      The words were bitter, punctuated by the rattle of chains as Bond stepped towards him, only to be stopped because he had already got to the end of his tether. In that instant, Q wished he could reach out to the dragon, but not only would he putting himself at risk, he knew there was little point in offering false comfort. Instead, he said quietly, “I’m here to help broker a peace so that-”

      He was cut off by a cold laugh. “Is that what you call it?” Bond asked, shaking his head at Q’s pitiful naiveté. “Corralling dragons away from anywhere the humans are? That doesn’t leave us with much land, considering how men seem to multiply like rabbits.”

      “You don’t need the land,” he pointed out. “You have all of the sky.” Although many seemed to think that dragons spent their time razing villages to the ground, in actuality most dragons never even came to the land, preferring the open air to the confinement of earth and soil. Dragons could fly forever, never once noticing the world below.

      “And what about food? Do you expect us to dine on clouds?”

      “Dragons do not like the taste of humans or their livestock,” he replied promptly. “You prefer wild beasts, and above all that which comes from the sea. Dragons and humans have co-existed for many years, mostly because your interests do not overlap. There is no reason to think that peaceful co-existence is not possible still.”

      “It is not us who wish to challenge the status quo,” Bond said darkly, but moved on quickly before Q could ask for further elaboration. “You know a lot about dragons. Read a lot of books, have you?”

      He had, but they both knew that people were better off consulting a child’s book of legends than the vast majority of scholarly works on the subject. It had been a constant complaint of Boothroyd, the sad state of accurate information on dragons, and his mentor had sworn repeatedly to change that. But Boothroyd had always been too occupied with his work to sit down and write, claiming that there would be plenty of time for that once he retired. He never did get the opportunity though.

      Q pushed back the overwhelming sorrow; he had done his share of mourning already, and there would be time enough later for more. Right now, he had a dragon to deal with. “I’ve met a lot of dragons.”

      If he was expecting Bond to be impressed, he would have to content himself with disappointment as the dragon merely snorted. “Couldn’t have been that many, seeing how very young you are.”

      He scowled. “Really, must we go through this again?”

      “We must,” Bond replied shortly. “Because you are clearly too young to realize that there is no brokering a peace, not here. You speak of peaceful co-existence, but if you knew anything, you would know that such a thing is no longer possible.”

      “Because you killed those people?”

      “That’s a symptom, not the cause.” Bond’s fist clenched, causing blood to run down his arm as claws ripped into soft skin rather than the armored scale. “Let me assure you, Q. As long as this castle stands, I will kill whoever it takes to bring it and the bastard human who lives in it down to your precious earth.”

      Difficult as it was, Q held his ground, somehow fighting back that desperate desire to flee. He did so by concentrating on Bond’s words, and the source of his apparent hatred. “So this is about Lord White, is it? You killed those people because of him?”

      “I did,” the dragon admitted easily. “And if he has his way, I will continue to kill. So let me repeat my warning to you. You should leave, before it is too late for you.”

      Perhaps it already was too late for him. Q always did have a peculiar fascination with dragons, and them with him. Bond was something else entirely, yet he felt drawn to him nevertheless, even in the face of such hostility.

      “Are you issuing a threat?” he asked quietly, even though he knew the answer to that already. Because truth be told, hostility was… not quite the right word, really. Bond was full of such rage, more rage than Q had ever encountered in another dragon, but it was not directed at him. It was directed, solely and completely, at this castle’s lord.

      Bond paused, clearly debating his next move. “For you?” he asked finally, settling on the truth because a lie would not be enough to make Q leave. “No. Just a warning. There is a threat to you, yes, but not from me. Humans like this White, they are the worst. They care only about making themselves powerful, regardless of the lives they must take in the process. Right now, you assist him. But once you make yourself a barrier to his goals, he will not hesitate to put you down.”

* * *

      After the dragon refused to say anything more on the subject (or anything else, for that matter), Q retreated back to the castle keep. He was greeted there by the captain, who sneeringly asked him of his progress thus far. “It’s a process,” he had said simply, and left without waiting for a response.

      Not that that had stopped the man from shouting at his back, “My lord is growing impatient. You’ll do well to remember that.”

      Impatient for what? The dragon was locked in the dungeons, not out marauding through crop fields. They did not even go to the trouble of feeding him, as Q discovered the next time he went down with a meal in his hand. He’d suspected that no one was coming down here but himself, and this was confirmed when Bond had stared at the food with such open longing.

      “It’s not what you prefer, but I had no way of bringing you a live fish,” he said briskly. Actually, he had no way of _getting_ a live fish, as he had still not attempted to leave the castle grounds, but he kept that to himself as he pushed the rash of bacon through the bars. The only response he received was the dragon tearing hungrily into the meat. It was not a pleasant sound, but Q had learned to deal with a few unpleasantries along the way, so he waited patiently for Bond to finish. It was taking some time, despite the dragon’s desperation, as he was constantly impeded by his twisted half-form. “Why do you stay that way?”

      Bond’s head snapped up quickly to look at him, those bright blue eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously, although he did not lower his meal.

      “In-between,” Q clarified. Somewhat.

      Luckily, it was enough, probably because the dragon had already known what he was asking. “Well, I can’t exactly take my true form in here,” Bond replied straightforwardly, his interest in their conversation quickly waning in favor of satisfying his appetite.

      “And your human form?” It had occurred to him that maybe this already was Bond’s human form, which would make this line of inquiry very awkward indeed. But he doubted it; although very little was known about shape-shifters, that presumably had something to do with their ability to pass as an ordinary human. Scales and claws would not be conducive to that.

      “It’s weak,” was Bond’s short response before he went back to devouring the bacon.

      This time, Q was polite enough to wait for the dragon to finish before he asked, “What do you look like then, in your true form?”

      At some very recent point, he must have established some level of trust because rather than again casting him that distrustful gaze, Bond just looked amused. “What do you think I look like?”

      It was strange, how quickly the dragon went from anger to almost… well, _flirtation_. One would think that a being trapped between human and dragon and unable to completely control either would not be so attractive, but Bond somehow managed it, especially with those sharp blue eyes. Q attempted to show how unimpressed he was with this by rolling his eyes and replying, “Grand and ostentatious, no doubt.”

      “You would be correct,” Bond replied smugly.

      Q didn’t bother trying to bite back his laughter. He had not had much to laugh about in these recent times, and he had most certainly not expected to find any cause for merriment here. “You’re quite arrogant, even for a dragon.”

      “And you’re quite interesting, for a human.” But such cheer could not last, and the dragon quickly sobered. “Is this what you do?” he asked softly. “Use sweet words to convince my kind to leave yours in peace?”

      “I suppose.” He knew better than to lie to a dragon, especially one as astute as Bond. “I’ve always had a way with dragons, and it seemed a better alternative to killing.”

      His pointed remark was not lost on Bond, whose expression turned grim. “Back to that again, are we? Why does it matter so much to you why I killed those people?”

      _It doesn’t_ , he wanted to say. _It shouldn’t_ , he ought to have believed. “I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth,” was what he said. “I don’t think you would kill anyone for no reason.” Because Bond… Bond was angry, yes, but even beneath that considerable charm, there was nothing about him to suggest that he would be unnecessarily cruel. The dragon was hiding something, but it seemed to be less for the dragon’s benefit, and more for his _own_.

      “If that’s what you would like to think,” Bond replied, as if reading his mind. But dragons could not read minds, not even the most powerful ones, so all Q could do was wonder just who Bond was trying to convince.

* * *

      Bond wasn’t the only one who was questioning Q’s methods. Unfortunately, unlike the dragon or even Captain Mitchell, the castle’s lord was not so easily avoided. This was a shame, as Q was in no mood to deal with skeptics when Lord White finally managed to corner him in the library.

      “It has been two weeks,” the lord said. Q was well-aware of that fact, having endured two weeks of increasingly hellish nightmares about falling. He had not even known it was possible for those dreams to get worse, yet somehow they had managed it, to the point that he woke up screaming, something he had not done since he was very young. He doubted Lord White would care about his sleeping patterns though, so he stayed silent as he waited for the man to explain why he was being told of this incredibly obvious fact. “My captain has had some… concerns about your work.”

      “Are they his concerns or yours?” he asked waspishly, immediately regretting his curtness when the lord raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t that he cared about the man’s feelings, but when one had the ability to have another drawn and quartered for any insult (perceived or otherwise), one likely expected a certain amount of respect. Or, at least, far more respect than Q currently had the patience to show.

      Before he could conjure up an appropriate, if not entirely sincere apology, the lord continued imperturbably, “They are mine as well now. What exactly do you hope to accomplish with words?”

      “An understanding.”

      “An understanding.” Where the captain would have responded with ridicule and Bond skepticism, the lord took the time to mull this response over before pointing out, “It is a mere beast. There is no coming to an understanding with creatures like it.”

      “Then why am I even here?”

      “To tame that monster, as I’ve ordered you to.”

      Again, Q had to struggle to keep his true thoughts at bay. Dragons could not be deemed monsters except in the rarest of circumstances, where madness overtook them and caused them to destroy everything in their path. While Bond’s present circumstances could certainly have led to madness, the dragon was for the most part calm.

      _And yet look at what he has done_ , Q had to remind himself quietly. Bond had never shied away from the destruction that he had wrought, destruction that led him directly to his cage. Where Q would have expected someone to deny or even justify such death, Bond did neither; he accepted it as his crime, and left it at that. If anything, Q thought that the dragon regretted it, except then he would speak of his desire for killing the lord and razing this castle to the ground, and then Q would not know what to think.

      It was ironic, that he finally was able to share a common language with a dragon, and yet had no idea how to make things right.

      Q doubted that Lord White would appreciate any of his present thoughts, but he also knew that he had to justify his actions somehow. If not for his own sake, then for Bond’s. He’d seen the methods employed by others in his line of work, and he knew that they would accomplish nothing except to hasten the death that Bond had sworn. To avoid that, he had to be permitted to work.

      “If I may be blunt,” he said, although he was long past asking for permission. “While my ways may seem unusual compared to the fire and brimstone philosophies espoused by others in my business, in all of my dealings with dragons, I have never had one return. Pitchforks and swords work temporarily at best, and worst where a dragon’s blood is spilled, others will come for revenge. So if you are looking for a permanent peace, then I would request that you leave me to my work.” A pause, as he stared at the lord. “That is what you want, is it not?”

      “Of course,” Lord White said after a long silence, but Q had no doubt that he was lying. The man had no shame in his deceit as he stood slowly, and although he was not physically intimidating, Q felt like he was staring death right in the eyes. Another point of irony, considering how he was dealing with the dragon every day, but then it sometimes seemed like what humans should fear most were themselves.

      As if to demonstrate that very fact, Q found himself nearly recoiling back as a wizened hand reached out to his cheek. It was no more than a touch, but its possessiveness made his stomach turn, as did the grim satisfaction on the lord’s face at his obvious alarm.

      “You have extraordinary eyes, Lyon,” the lord said, in a way that made him genuinely fearful that his eyes would end up floating in a jar. He did not respond, could barely even breathe, as the man came too close. “Who did you get it from, your mother or father?”

      Q felt like his very skin was ready to jump off his bones and crawl away as quickly as it could. “I wouldn’t know, my lord.” He did not care to elaborate further, about how Boothroyd had found him when he was still a babe and raised him as his own. The lord might have forced him to come here and confront the dragon, but there were some things that would remain his alone, now that Boothroyd had been taken from him too.

      “Interesting.” The hand moved away, finally allowing him to take in a desperate gasp of air as he stepped back, no longer caring about proper etiquette. Lord White’s smile followed him. “They’re the kind of eyes that see everything, and yet you are still so blind.”

* * *

      “What does he want from you?!”

      Given that he had just slammed the heavy door open, heedless of the dragon’s limited ability to rest in this cramped cell, Bond probably could not be blamed for his irritated sigh as he slowly pulled himself up. Q had little time for empathy though, as he yelled, “Answer me, damn you! What are you to him?!”

      “Caught on, have you?” Bond sounded nothing short of bored, but when the dragon turned to look at him, something must have shown in his eyes. Then the dragon had the audacity to look faintly sorry for him, as if he was the one in the cage (but perhaps he was, trapped by his own selfish ignorance). “What happened?”

      “What happened?” Q repeated with a desperate laugh. The dragon sounded almost _protective_ , which was ridiculous given their respective positions. “What happened is that I am sick of this place. I am sick of not knowing what is happening and _why_ it is happening. I-”

      Bond cut him off. “You know exactly why you are here,” the dragon said, not unkindly. “White desires a weapon. I am that weapon, and you are here to pull the trigger.”

      Q shut his eyes, bracing himself against the bars of the cage. Bond was right, of course; he’d suspected it himself, when the lord had gone to the trouble of chaining up a dragon before bringing in a tamer. He hadn’t wanted to believe though, in part because he couldn’t imagine anyone would be stupid enough to attempt such a thing. Or rather, he couldn’t imagine anyone would be _cruel_ enough to try, to treat a dragon like mere chattel. But people like Lord White didn’t hesitate to use humans, so why would they stop at dragons?

      “You never believed that he was doing this for the good of his people, so why are you upset?” Bond sounded genuinely confused, and Q was too ashamed to face him. He could no longer avoid facing the truth, however. Deep down, he had known what the lord wanted and what he was being used for, but he was too weak to challenge it. He had not wanted to share Boothroyd’s fate, had not wanted to die like _that_ , had not wanted to die at all, in fact. So he wrapped himself in his ignorance and pretended that he was doing good for the dragon, brokering a peace that nobody actually wanted because everyone had their own agendas. Now he was only amazed that Lord White had had this much patience, rather than throwing him out as soon as he realized that Q carried no weapons with which to subject and oppress a dragon.

      “I should have done something,” he whispered, opening his eyes to look at Bond. There was something like compassion in those blue eyes, which was more than could be said than most people in this castle. It wasn’t necessarily their fault; those who were not simply cruel were justifiably scared, just like he was.

      Perhaps sensing his weakness, the dragon sighed. “And what exactly do you think you could have done?”

      “Thank you,” he snapped. “Thank you for that incredible vote of confidence.”

      Once again, he realized belatedly that he should watch his tone when dealing with someone who was more than capable of making his life very short (and what little remained of it very, _very_ miserable), but he was beyond caring. But then he saw Bond’s frown, and the guilt came back, causing him to shut his mouth and let the dragon speak.

      “You are being arrogant, if you think you could have done something,” Bond said. “Nobody expected you to wage war single-handedly against White. I tried that, and look at where I ended up,” he added regretfully.

      This was true, except that he had done so not by attacking the lord directly, but destroying an entire city. It was not something that Q could have done or condoned, even knowing what Lord White wanted. In fact, by bringing death rather than simply running away, Bond might have inadvertently made things worse, not only giving the lord the opportunity to get his hands on a dragon, but providing a first-hand demonstration of the awful destructive power a dragon possessed.

      In that moment, Q felt an irrational rush of anger towards Bond, for getting both of them into this mess. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t even _right_ , but anger rarely was either.

      Yet anger also required strength, and that was something he no longer had. He could practically feel himself collapsing, perhaps not physically but certainly mentally, as he again closed his eyes, unable to face the dragon.

      “You look tired,” Bond murmured.

      “I am tired,” he replied wretchedly, gladly taking the escape offered by this conversation topic.

      “Because you dream.” Q could not even muster the strength to ask how Bond could have possibly known something like that. “What do you dream of?”

      “I dream of falling.” It was the first time he had admitted this to anyone but Boothroyd, but he supposed that the dragon deserved that much, at least. “Every night, I dream of falling.”

      “Falling,” the dragon repeated slowly. But before Q could make the dreadful mistake of thinking that Bond was being sympathetic, he continued, “That is a strange thing to be frightened by. Why would you be afraid of falling?”

      It took a significant amount of self-control not to shoot the dragon a dirty look, although he couldn’t help tart reply, “It is less to do with the falling than the fear of crashing.”

      Bond stared at him; honestly, Q didn’t know what the lord was saying, commenting on his eyes when the dragon’s eyes seemed to stare right through him. He did not even believe in the concept of souls, but he imagined that Bond did not care much for his beliefs and was staring straight into it. “But you don’t dream of crashing,” Bond said reasonably. “You dream of falling.”

      “Aren’t you in a philosophical mood?” he bit back. “Either way, I suppose it is a problem that a dragon would not understand, being able to fly.”

      “On the contrary,” was the reply. “A dragon falling from the heights we can reach would be a tragedy. Humans, on the other hand, can only go up as high as their arrogance permits. If you do not climb to such heights, what would you have to worry about falling?” A pause. “Or crashing.”

      “Unfortunately, dreams do not consider such logical implications.”

      Bond laughed, a surly sound that reminded him that for all his self-pitying, he was not the victim here. “That is a flaw not limited to human dreams, I have found.”

      “What is it like to fly?” Q asked abruptly, even though it was not his place. “What is it like, to fall knowing that you can keep yourself from crashing?”

      When the dragon hesitated, Q wondered if he had gone too far. It was a strange thing to worry about, all things considered, but he did nevertheless. He knew from experience that there were some things not to be shared, but instead to be held close to the heart and away from anyone else. Flying, which was such a uniquely _un_ -human experience, could very well be one of them, but then Bond’s eyes softened and all he could see was sadness.

      “It’s like nothing you could ever imagine,” Bond said. “The freedom it offers, of not having to be concerned with barriers or limitations. Just you and the sky, all of it. It is unimaginable, until you have tasted it.” But for all his deep sadness, the anger was never far from the surface for the dragon, and his eyes narrowed at the heavy door behind Q, as if he could see through it and all the stones of the castle. “That is what that man wants to take away from me. _That_ is why he put me here.”

      Q didn’t think he was imagining the smoke that was starting to stifle the room, or the scales and claws that became more defined. But Bond could do no more, for even as his flesh grew it had nowhere to go, bound as he was by chains that could not expand but instead bit into skin and made him bleed. There was a sound like paper tearing, as another wing suddenly burst free, but like its sibling it had nowhere to go except be cramped painfully by the small room, the delicate bones within threatening to snap. If Q had thought the dragon was in agony before, it was nothing compared to now, but Bond seemed completely incapable of stopping himself now.

      And Q, in all his uselessness, could only stand there and watch, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

      Even to him, the apology seemed more an excuse, but when Bond turned on him, the dragon’s expression was almost… confused. “You? What do you have to be sorry for? You did not take the sky from me.”

      “I’m sorry I could not do more.”

      In no way should this meaningless apology have placated the dragon’s anger – it certainly did nothing to assuage his own guilt – yet amazingly Bond seemed to subside. His skin still bled sluggishly, but it was no longer pressed painfully into the manacles while the wings shrunk to a more manageable size. The one thing that never changed were those blue eyes, slitted and startlingly clear.

      “You care,” Bond said, voice even more rasping than usual as he stared at Q, unsure of what he was seeing. “You care about our well-being.”

      “I respect your kind,” he corrected.

      “It’s not just that,” the dragon insisted. “You genuinely care for us.”

      Q was silent. Boothroyd had always taught him the importance of respect, but at a certain point, it was not about a means to an end. Dragons were dangerous, but they were also beautiful and powerful and so much _more_ , untethered by the earth or petty human squabbles. Every time he’d watched a dragon take off from the ground and back into the air, he’d felt a rush of exhilaration as they returned to their home in the sky, where they belonged.

      There was a clink of the chains, and he could feel his mouth dry as Bond approached him. He could not move, could only watch as the dragon got closer, even as he began to realize that he desperately wanted Bond to actually _reach_ him.

      But it was not only chains and metal that would keep them apart, as the door to the dungeon slammed open and a heavy hand reached out to grab his arm, yanking him away from the cage.


	3. Chapter 3

      In his horror, Q could only stare as he was dragged back, buffeted as men wearing armor and carrying various weaponry swarmed past. Even when the door to the dragon’s cage opened with a metallic clang – nowhere near loud enough to drown out Bond’s snarl – Q still could not comprehend what was happening. It was only when a snap of the dragon’s jaws was met by a club to the stomach that he finally understood what was happening to Bond, and he lunged forward at the scene playing out before him.

      Q had no idea what he would have done, but he never had the chance to find out; the hand had not released his arm, and even if he pulled hard enough to dislocate his own shoulder, there was no way he would be getting to Bond. He turned to glare at his assailant, but the captain cared little for his anger even as he yelled, “What are you _doing_?!”

      “Lord White has determined that your methods are too slow,” Captain Mitchell replied, and while his voice was even, his annoyance was clear enough as he tightened his grip. “You are no closer to taming the dragon than when you started.”

      “You mean making it easier for White to control him like he was an object,” Q snapped, earning himself a blow to the face that made the world spin. But his pain was nothing compared to the dragon’s, as the captain’s men continued their assault. Q could hear every blow that fell upon Bond, was acutely aware of his agony despite his very best attempts to suppress his groans. They were torturing the dragon, using force where gentle words had failed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

      That did not stop him from trying though, as he struggled to free his arm from the iron grip holding him back. But his efforts were so pitiful that the captain did not even have the decency to acknowledge it, too fixated on the suffering he had ordered to happen. But just as Q was seriously considering kneeing the bastard in the groin, he found himself wholly distracted by a scream.

      It was not Bond’s.

      Q spun around, eyes widening at the sight of blood, fresh and glistening on the wall. The men who were still able to immediately backed away, but in their zeal to hurt, they had exposed themselves to the dragon and now could not move quickly enough to get out of his range. Moving faster than the human eye could ever hope to follow, Bond struck, claws ripping into the gut of one man even as he bit through the shoulder of another. Every movement was brutal yet efficient, crippling if not outright killing each of his victims with a single blow.

      _Was this how they died?_ he thought numbly as he watched the dragon work. The lord had mentioned Bond had killed with his bare hands, but he’d thought – _hoped_ – that was mere exaggeration. Clearly it was not, as the number of bodies on the ground began to pile up.

      But there was only so far Bond could go, and both Q and the captain were well outside of that limited area, a fact that the dragon was not unaware of. Except now that the proverbial beast had been awakened, Bond could not… no, _would_ not be denied his revenge, and the dragon pulled hard on the chains as he struggled to break free. Q couldn’t help his truly pathetic whimper as it seemed like the entire castle shook from Bond’s efforts, and he wondered if being crushed by an entire castle would be worse than falling (or _crashing_ ) once the dragon succeeded in pulling the stones he was shackled to right out of its foundation.

      Then there was a crack, but it was not that of the world above crumbling above him. Instead, it was the snap of rusted metal breaking, and it took a moment too long for Q to realize that Bond had finally managed to break free of his chains. For in that split-second it had taken for him to understand what was happening, the captain had flung him straight into the path of the dragon’s rage, using him as a human shield even as the man fled. He had no time to balance himself, let alone try to get out of the way, and he could do nothing as a scaled body crashed into him, knocking him to the floor.

      Q nearly vomited as his head struck the floor, the agony combining with the terror as he was pinned down by a heavy body pressed on top of him. Clawed hands dug into the stone next to his head, preventing him from twisting away from the hot, sulfuric breath of the dragon snarling down at him. But even that could not mask the stench of fresh blood, arising not only from the bodies still in the cage but the dragon’s own. The dragon’s escape had not been without cost, and blood dripped onto him, burning through his clothing like acid.

      He had no idea what to do. He could not fight back, he could not escape, and any words he had seemed to die in his mouth, leaving behind only bitter ash. Even if he could speak, he did not know what to say – or rather, he did not know what he had the _right_ to say. As far as the dragon was concerned, he was just like all of the lord’s other men, and there was no reason to let him live before tearing out of this rank dungeon to have his revenge.

      “Make it quick,” Q whispered, and the words were barely out of his mouth before he was praying that the dragon did not hear his plea. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the sharp teeth descend towards him or the flames before they consumed him. He did not know which he preferred.

      His eyes opened wide when he felt something gently touch his cheek, but it was not claws or flame but fingers, calloused and worn. There was nothing worn about Bond’s eyes though, still so startling blue but no longer slitted. The blood madness was fading from his eyes, taking with it the fangs and scales that rippled as they disappeared into skin. The last thing vestige of the otherworldly were the wings, which stretched out for one final breath before they shrunk into nothing, leaving behind something that was painfully human.

      “Bond.” Q choked on the name, as the dragon stared down at him, handsome face looking so very exhausted by all the things that he had seen. Even as a human, Bond radiated immense strength, but there was only gentleness when the dragon caressed his cheek. Unlike the lord’s touch, Q felt no desire to run; rather, he felt himself unconsciously reaching out a hand of his own to take Bond’s, to-

      The dragon jerked back, his face twisting as he bellowed in agony, carried off of Q by the force of the arrow that had punched through his right shoulder. Before Bond could straighten, another joined it, along with heavily armored men. Unlike their former brothers in arms, these people had no interest in playing with their food, immediately taking advantage of Bond’s distraction and _humanity_ to strike him in the head, clearly trying to force the dragon into unconsciousness.

      For his part, Q was jerked back, likely saving him from being trampled by the newcomers. He was in no mood to be grateful though, especially when he saw who his savior was, and he threw himself at the captain.

      “Stop this!” he screamed, but he was just as useless as before. Except this time, the captain did not bother to stick around to witness the carnage, instead dragging him forcibly from the cage. He was hurried up the stone steps screeching, nearly slipping and falling to his death a few times, before he was sent sprawling in the main hallway. He was not even on his feet before the heavy door swung shut, and the captain walked before him slowly.

      Q looked up, meeting the captain’s eyes. There was no twisted smirk now, not after the death that had happened. There was only a cold anger, as if it was Q’s fault that those men had been killed.

      “Your services are no longer needed,” Captain Mitchell told him unnecessarily as he got unsteadily to his feet. The bastard gestured, and a serving girl rushed forward, pushing his few belongings into his arms before she hurried away, not wanting to be caught up in this mess any longer than necessary. The captain turned to two serving men, ordering brusquely, “See that he leaves immediately.”

      Q wished that he could have fought back, but he could do nothing as the men marched him towards the castle entrance, their handling of him competent but not cruel. Instead, as he stood outside the massive keep, staring helplessly at the great stone walls, his mind remained trapped in the dungeon below, with the dragon that he did not know how to save.

* * *

      In the time since Boothroyd had died, Q had become used to wandering with no destination in mind. It should therefore have been easy to revert back to his old ways, to turn his back on both Lord White and Bond, but he could not. Q might not have known what he should do, but even he knew that running away was never a possibility.

      So he headed south.

      It took some time, to get the information that he needed. Understandably, people who lived in Lord White’s territories were reluctant to talk, especially about matters that had resulted in the deaths of so many people. But the destruction of an entire city at the hands of a dragon was not news that could be kept secret for long. “The place is still smoldering,” one woman had told him furtively, as her children watched on with wide eyes. “On bad days, you can smell it burning all the way here.”

      Q did not know if she was exaggerating or if it simply was not a ‘bad day,’ but it took him another half-day’s travel before he finally came within range of the ruins. Even then, it was not the scent that alerted him to his destination, but the eerie deadness of the forest around him. There were not only no people but no animals, leaving only an ominous silence as he got close.

      He grimaced, when he finally came in view of the city. The few buildings that were left standing had been gutted by fire, but the stench was not so much burning as the corpses that had been left behind. Clearly no one had dealt with the corpses; likely it was because there was nobody to do so.

      As he circled the scorched skeleton of the gates that once allowed visitors to enter, he wondered again what he hoped to gain here. The stories of what happened here did not differ; nobody denied that Bond was the one who had destroyed it, including Bond himself. At the same time, seeing it for himself did nothing to make him believe that what the lord was doing to the dragon was justice for the dead. Instead, the whole ordeal simply made him sad, as he surveyed what was left of a once-bustling city. Now, there was nothing.

      Nothing, except for an old lady heading his way.

      “Um,” he said, startled as she came right up to him. She looked him over, her steely blue eyes inspecting every inch of him as if she was assessing his worth. “Can I help you?”

      “Is that really what you should be asking?” she replied. “Clearly you are the one looking for something here. Who sent you?”

      “No one sent me,” he said hurriedly. “I just wanted to know what happened here.”

      “What happened here hardly matters,” was her blunt response. “What’s done is done, and you can move on now. Bond is no longer here, so if you are looking to collect a bounty on his head, there is no point in sticking around for him.”

      He batted away his irritation at the very thought of anyone collecting a bounty on the dragon; he probably deserved it, given his complicity during the past weeks. “I know Bond is not here,” he said. “Lord White took him away.”

      She snorted, not bothering to hide her disgust at the name. “Lord White. If not for him, none of this would have happened. Bond was no danger to anyone except himself, until that man showed up.”

      “Can you tell me what happened then?”

      “That depends on who you are.”

      He smiled wryly at her distrust; it served her well, clearly, considering how she was still standing here. It was also why he did not lie. “I’m a dragon tamer. The lord hired me to tame a dragon, but we had a disagreement.”

      “Did you really?” she said sourly, unimpressed by his honesty.

      “Bond says he destroyed this city,” Q murmured, looking away from her and back at the ruins. “But I do not think it is as simple as that.”

      “Why can’t it be?”

      “Because I don’t think he is the type to do this sort of thing,” he snapped, his temper flaring. It was one thing to question him, but to question Bond…. Practically speaking, he knew that he was in no position to pass judgment when he had only known the dragon for two weeks, but he did not care anymore.

      He might have said more, but found himself silenced by her level stare as she inspected him again, her lips pursed. Just as he was about to make his excuses and move on, she said abruptly, “You remind me of her. What is your name?”

      “Richard Lyon,” he answered automatically. “Who is-?”

      She cut him off. “That is not your true name.”

      Q was starting to get worryingly used to people knowing things they had no business knowing, like how he had been too young to remember his name when Boothroyd had found him, requiring his mentor to give him one. He could have taken Boothroyd’s name, but as close as they had become, they also agreed that it never seemed to fit. Sometimes his given name did not seem to fit either, which was why he preferred a single letter. Now seemed neither the time nor place to go into such reminiscences though, so he said patiently, “It is the only name I have. Who is _she_?”

      The old lady smiled, although she did not look particularly amused by his own stubbornness. “Vesper Lynd. She was James Bond’s lover.” Q’s expression must have been a sight to behold because she seemed quite bemused by it. “Unfortunately, what he did not know was that Vesper had been sent by Lord White.”

      Q grimaced. “To do what?”

      “You really have to ask?” She shook her head, but indulged his ignorance. “I assume you’ve seen Bond for yourself, and what he is capable of. He’s been in this area for a while, walking in the city when it takes his fancy. He protected it too, better than Lord White ever would have, but when Lord White heard there was a powerful dragon here, one with a weakness for drink, rescues, and beautiful women… well. Next thing you know, he’s saving her from a hoard of so-called bandits, she’s offering him a drink, and that should have been the end of that. But then she made a mistake.”

      “A mistake?” Q repeated. He was still having trouble processing any of this, but whoever this woman was, she lacked the patience to let him catch up.

      “She fell in love with him too,” she said shortly. “Vesper was supposed to manipulate him, to make him Lord White’s slave. Don’t ask me how she was supposed to do that, but considering how much he loved her, she would have managed it. But she chose Bond over Lord White. She went to that man, begged him to leave Bond alone, even offered herself to him. I’m sure she hoped they’d let her live, but she must have known she was going to her death.”

      “He killed her?” He felt stupid for asking, but he didn’t know what else to say.

      “Publicly. Painfully. It took her a long time to die. Bond was gone on a hunting trip, but Lord White made sure to keep her alive until he returned. And when Bond attacked him, he set his men on the city. Bond had a choice then, revenge or protecting us. In the end, he managed neither, torn between the two and ravaged by his grief.” She let out a sigh, and it sounded like she had been holding onto these words for a long time. “He blames himself, I am certain of it. He thinks that if he was never here, or if he was not so weak to fall for her lies, this city would still be standing.”

      “That idiot,” Q said without thinking, causing her to laugh.

      “Yes, that idiot,” she agreed, but sobered quickly as she eyed him. “So there it is, the story you have come looking for. Now that you know, what will you do? What can you do?”

      “I’ve been asking myself the same thing for a while now,” was all he could say.

* * *

      That night under the shining stars, not far from the city of the dead, when he fell it was into Bond’s arms.

      _I’ve got you_ , the dragon crooned as they dropped to the earth, but Q was not sure if this was reassuring or not.

* * *

      Because here was the thing. In the days it had taken him to travel back to the lord’s castle, he had not been able to formulate any sort of serviceable plan. At his rate, he was going to end up walking all the way back to the front gates and knocking on the door, which as strategies went was not particularly effective (except for getting him killed).

      He never got the opportunity to test that theory out.

      “Richard Lyon.” Q could not remember a time the lord looked so pleased to see him, and he suspected that did not bode well for his prospects. _It took her a long time to die_ , the old woman reminded him, which really was the last thing he needed reminding _of_.

      “Lord White,” he returned politely. This was actually quite the accomplishment, given the impressive assortment of weaponry being thrust in his general direction by the men who surrounded him. Honestly, he had no idea what they were so paranoid about; he lacked any sort of weaponry (or training, even if he had somehow managed to get his hands on a blade), and was exhausted from his days journeying back and forth. The only positive to his current situation was that one of the men with pointy cutlery was not the captain, which was a curious omission. “You did not bring the esteemed captain with you?”

      The lord blinked slowly, trying to determine if he was joking. “Captain Mitchell was not supposed to let you leave.”

      “Oh,” he said, before adding lightly, “Well, I hope you punished him for that.”

      “I did.” And as much as he hated the captain, he suddenly felt rather sorry for the bastard, although not nearly as much as he felt sorry for _himself_ when the lord continued, “I had hoped to find you again, but I did not dare to think you would actually be foolish enough to return on your own.”

      “What can I say? Your hospitality was simply too generous.” That was a blatant lie. “To be honest, I am surprised you would go to this much trouble to welcome me back. I thought you would be displeased at my _failure_.” He practically spat the last word, the very thought of this man trying to enslave Bond bringing back all his righteous indignation.

      But righteous indignation was nothing compared to an army of men, and Lord White simply raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you did fail to do what I had hoped you would. But in the end, I found that I could make use of you still. You see, your little demonstration in the dungeon made me realize that the monster has a weakness, which could make him… ineffective. You are going to help me destroy that weakness.”

      “I’m not helping you with anything,” he retorted, and it was no wonder that the lord merely smiled at his false bravado. Q would have done the same, if their positions were reversed.

      Unfortunately, they were not.

      “That is not up to you to decide. Bring him,” the lord ordered, quickly losing interest in their conversation and addressing his men. As he turned his horse to head back to the castle, he added belatedly, “And do ensure that he keeps quiet. I hardly have use for his insolence.”

      Q opened his mouth, ready to grace the bastard with some more of his insolence, but then something clubbed him in the back of his head and he was falling, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

* * *

      Q expected to wake up lying in a dark, cold dungeon, possibly with instruments of torture all around him (or _through_ him; the lord seemed the impatient type). When he finally awakened, he found that none of these things were the case. Instead, he woke up standing upright, tied tightly to a stake that was in the middle of what seemed like an outside arena, under the baking sun.

      “I must be dreaming,” he groaned, but in all his years, he had never had a dream like this. The way things were heading, he never would.

      His head jerked towards the right side of the arena, where bars separated the interior of the building from the sandy pit he was in. From there, he could just barely make out the sounds of people fighting, and he grimaced at the thought of what they would do to him when the bars opened. He had no question why he was here, after all, although the setting of his execution site seemed patently ridiculous.

      He must have voiced his opinion because there was a chuckle, and Lord White’s voice echoed through the arena. “I guess this just isn’t for everyone, Lyon, but I rather find myself enjoying this arrangement.”

      “You would, with your god complex,” he shot back, pulling desperately at his binds. They did not give in the slightest because whoever had tied him had done an estimable job, and Q feverishly hoped that he would have the chance to express his admiration. Preferably with a knife to the gut. “I know what you did, you bastard. I know that you sent Vesper Lynd to Bond, and that when she did not do your bidding, you tortured her, destroyed that city, and murdered all those people.”

      “It was necessary,” the lord replied, completely unrepentant. The man was seated directly across from him in a raised dais, in a perfect position to look down at him as he was messily killed. “The real shame is, if that whore had only done what she was supposed to, I would have had that monster.”

      “How hard that must have been for you.”

      “Instead,” Lord White continued loudly, purposefully ignoring his bitter quip, “I had to lock that crazed beast up and summon you, only to find that you were hardly the type of dragon tamer I needed. Or any type of dragon tamer, for that matter.”

      Q was by now immune to the insults about his abilities, choosing to ask, “Then why did you let me stay as long as I did?”

      “I told you,” Lord White said patiently, as if speaking to someone very stupid. “That monster has a weakness. Vesper, for all her faults, showed that to me. He cares for people, wants to protect them. It’s as if the beast thinks he is human, that he can have a purpose beyond killing. As long as he has that weakness, he is of little use to me.”

      “Then you should free him,” Q advised. “Although I would also suggest backing up quickly, if I were you. I would think he is understandably upset over the murdering his loved one and prolonged captivity aspects of your association.”

      Even at this distance, the man’s expression was positively withering. “I should have had you gagged,” he said coldly. “Or better yet, your tongue pulled out.”

      Despite the fact that he was about to die, Q did not relish the idea of being gratuitously tortured beforehand. It still took remarkable self-control to keep his mouth shut, especially when the bastard had the gall to look triumphant at the success of his threats. “As I was saying, a weapon with a weakness like that is no weapon at all. But when you arrived, I could see that he became… attached to you. He falls so quickly, that dragon, and once again that will be to my advantage.”

      “By killing me, like you did her?” he demanded. “Putting aside that you did not have to go through all the trouble of trussing me up like this, what could you possibly hope to accomplish by your killing me?”

      “I have no intention of killing you, Lyon,” Lord White replied. “ _He_ is going to do it.”

      Before Q could ask what that was supposed to mean, he got his answer. The metal bars swung open, and a body was flung out onto the sand. His breath caught as he stared at Bond, who was still in his human form but barely recognizable now that his skin was a gory patchwork of ugly, open wounds, torn apart by whips and even blades. In the few places where the flesh was not mangled, it was covered in bruises and blood, yet despite every movement surely being an absolute torment, the dragon managed to stagger to his feet.

      “Oh Bond,” he whispered in dismay, the evidence of severe torture impossible to look away from. “What did they do to you?”

      At the sound of his voice, the dragon immediately turned on him, faster than Q would have thought possible given the severity of his injuries. But madness could do that to someone, and Q could see the insanity in the blue eyes, which saw him but no longer recognized him as anything but a threat.

      The lord was screaming something, but Q could not hear it, his attention completely on the dragon as it took a step towards him. With each looming step, Bond began to change, free as he was from the chains and the cage and the blows of humanity’s cruelty. In a matter of seconds, Q found himself staring up at a fully-grown dragon, far larger than any he had ever seen before, as wings well over fifty feet burst open, casting his side of the arena into darkness. At the same time, he found himself blinded by scales that gleamed a pure gold in the sunlight, and the tendrils of smoky fire that curled from his jaws. Everything about the dragon was grand and ostentatious and absolutely _deadly_ , and all Q could say was:

      “I told you your name did not suit you.”


	4. Chapter 4

      “You’re insane.”

      Bond snarled, his front claws slamming into the earth, but Q kept his eyes fixed on the lord, who he could now just barely see behind the dragon’s massive bulk. “You’re completely insane,” he reiterated, although he had to scream the words to be heard above the chaos.

      Some people might have gently suggested that this was not the time to be expressing his opinion on the man’s clear mental deficiencies, but Q was quite beyond the point of caring. Because as mad as Bond was, that human was madder still, unleashing a dragon like this when he had no way of controlling him beyond simple brutality. Considering the rage Bond was in, he doubted that brutality would work in any case, but the lord was either too arrogant or too deranged to see that for himself.

      Q was more than happy to enlighten the man on this basic fact though, especially now that he had nothing to lose. Just because he was going to die here did not mean he had to stay silent in the face of such utter lunacy, so he demanded, “Just what the hell are you even trying to accomplish?!”

      He hadn’t really expected Lord White to respond, but the bastard seemed eager enough to gloat. “What I told you already, Lyon. He will destroy you, and in doing so, he will finally free himself of his weaknesses.”

      Only a man like this would think of caring for another as a weakness, but Q did not waste his breath on that. Instead, he asked, “And why would he do that?”

      “Because I _ordered_ him to.”

      Confident as the lord was, Q knew that was not the reason. _A mad dragon cannot be tamed_ , he remembered Boothroyd telling him gravely. _One cannot bargain with it, nor reason with it, because it is no longer capable of listening. Nothing will sate its desire for devastation until it has destroyed everything, and even then, it will never be enough._

      _So what do you do?_ he had asked, his voice hushed.

      Boothroyd had not been able to look him in the eye when replying, _You put it out of its misery._

      Q had sworn then that he would never do such a thing, and he had no intention of breaking that promise now. Especially not when the true culprit behind this was a man whose madness was the product of a lust for power. None of this was Bond’s fault, and he would be damned before he let the dragon pay the price for one sad, pitiful human coveting that which no one had a right to.

      “Destroy him,” Lord White yelled, although his gesticulations in Q’s direction were lost on the dragon. Bond had not turned back once to look at the man who foolishly proclaimed himself his master. “Destroy him, before he can betray your trust like _she_ did.”

      “Vesper Lynd,” Q said quietly, but he was no longer addressing the human. The man did not deserve that amount of courtesy. “She loved you.” That, Q could not question. There were not many people in this world who would defy a person of Lord White’s standing, especially for a dragon. He suspected that nobody would stand up to this man ever again soon.

      “And look at where she ended up,” the lord sneered. “Look at where _you_ ended up.”

      He ignored that. Despite his decidedly precarious position, the wrongs done to him were nothing compared to what had happened to Vesper and Bond. He had no trouble believing what the old lady had said about Vesper’s death being long and painful, and with Bond he did not even need a story; the evidence was right in front of him. Despite the transformation, the dragon still carried the traumas of torture. Blood oozed from between the scales, sizzling as they dropped onto the arena floor, and his breathing was stuttered, as if several ribs had snapped. Beneath the rage was a weary pain, and Q knew that neither of them had much time left as he stared into blue eyes that, despite everything, were not that much different from what he had seen during those few weeks together.

      “She loved you,” he repeated softly, a reminder that was meant only for Bond. The dragon let out a roar, and Q shuddered at its force. He did not let it stop him though. “She died, so that you would not have to be caught up in this.” Because this, _this_ was not where Bond belonged, not this earth and the petty squabbles of fools who wanted only to take more, regardless of what they did to others. Bond belonged to the sky, enjoying the freedom that he once spoke of so longingly. Q knew, without a doubt, that Vesper had died to give the dragon that chance because that was all he wanted for Bond as well.

      “Don’t let her sacrifice go to waste, Bond.” It was barely more than a whisper, but he was sure that the dragon could hear every word. “Leave, fly, just get _away_ while you still can. Your freedom is worth so much more than that human.”

      And what went unsaid was this; _Your freedom is worth so much more than me._

      Because as terrifying as death at the hands of the dragon was, it was likely better than what would happen if Bond left him behind. White and his men, who reveled in inflicting pain on others, would no doubt make his end a painful one, just like they had done to Vesper. But Bond could not worry about that, not if he was to escape. Neither Vesper nor Q could hold the dragon back from flying, not anymore.

      _I don’t agree_.

      And before Q could process the fact that the dragon was _speaking_ to him, let alone tell Bond off for being an utter fool, the dragon reared back, his wings outstretched in a display so gaudy that Q nearly choked on his own incredulity. It would have been an embarrassing way to die, but he supposed that Lord White might have found it preferable as Bond whipped his head back and engulfed that entire half of the arena in fire. Even though the flames were not directed at him, the heat seemed to scorch everything in the near vicinity, and if not for the fact that Bond was standing between him and the flame, protecting him, he was certain that he would have died regardless.

      There were screams all around (not White’s, _not_ White’s, that man would never utter a sound again now), but the dragon could hardly care. Instead, he turned back to Q, his jaws clamping down on the stake less than a foot from Q’s head, pulling the entire cursed thing out of the earth. Q gasped as he was momentarily carried upwards, before he slid down, the ropes that once looped around him and the wood no match for gravity. He landed on the floor with a pained grunt, only to narrowly miss being killed by an arrow flying by.

      Their lord might be dead, but to the castle’s garrison, the dragon was still a threat. Arrows continued to fly at them, and while more than a few were turned back by the hard scales, too many found their target and were buried in the dragon’s flesh. That did not stop Bond from grabbing hold of him in one clawed hand, the wind buffeting against him as they fled. His loping gait might have been amusing, but Q had little time to appreciate it as they headed for the edge of the arena.

      “Please tell me you have a plan,” Q moaned as they got close, and he cursed the dragon when the only response was a throaty laugh.

      Bond did have a plan, but nowhere in Q’s universe would it have been considered a _good_ plan. The dragon apparently preferred the direct approach, using his bulk to simply slam through the stone wall, showering the air with dust and rubble. Clearly no one had ever thought that anyone would be desperate (or strong) enough to leave in such a manner, for there were no men here to impede his way. But then there was no earth either, the wall having been the only thing between them and a sheer drop to the ocean below.

      “Shit,” Q said articulately as Bond flung them both into the sky. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_.”

      But the worst was yet to come, as Bond twisted in the air and his wings again spread out, ready to carry them to safety. Or at least, they would have, if they had not at that moment faded away into nothing.

* * *

      Quicker than Q could ever have dreamed of, he found himself plummeting to the water, Bond’s very, _very_ human arms wrapped around his neck. It only took him a split-second to understand that the stress of the transformation to a full dragon had simply been too much for Bond with all his injuries, especially when combined with the wounds that had been picked up during the escape. It took him a split-second more to realize that even though this made perfect sense, he really did not care. Because in that very short amount of time, they had continued to fall, and Q did not exactly have time to worry about _sense_ when all of his nightmares were coming true at once, causing him to screech.

      They were going to die. They were going to hit the jagged rocks below and be dashed into pieces, or if by some miracle they managed to land in the water, the impact of falling from this height would probably shatter their every limb. Even the arms that were somehow still so tightly wrapped around him would break, and he stared at Bond’s slack expression, wondering why the hell the dragon had chosen to die with him rather than leave him to his fate.

      _Because that monster has a weakness_ , White reminded him cruelly as they fell. _He cares for people._ And because Bond had, at some point or another, come to care for him, they would now both die.

      That was not what he wanted. That was the last thing he wanted, as his own hands came up to hold the dragon close. Bond was not supposed to die like this, falling to the ground. Q was the one who dreamed of falling every night, unable to stop his descent, and no one else was supposed to get caught up in this.

      “What do I do?” he asked, the question lost to the sky. “What _can_ I do?”

      _Stop falling_ , was the reasonable response.

      “That’s easy for you to say,” he replied as he closed his eyes, and even the fear was not enough to overcome his bitterness in his final seconds. How was he supposed to stop falling when even a dragon could not prevent himself? How was he supposed to stop falling when even he did not even have wings anymore?

      _Anymore?_

      A laugh. _Why else do you think you dream of falling?_

      He had no words to respond to that. He no longer needed words. Because when he opened his eyes, the world no longer looked as it once did through the slitted pupils, and when he screamed it was no longer in fear of the rocks below, but a rumbling challenge. A challenge because he could defy the earth and the water below, both of which wanted to ruin them, neither of which would succeed as inky black wings stretched open, catching the open air.

      _You fool_ , he thought as his wings carried them upwards. He did not know if he was addressing himself or the other dragon, as Bond’s weight was no longer an anchor but a reassuring presence on his back, those muscled arms looped loosely around his long neck.

      Bond had barely regained consciousness now, but still he was able to reply with a weak laugh, “Not foolish enough to believe that you were not worth saving, Q.”

* * *

      Q woke up, feeling rather irritated.

      It was, at least, an improvement from before. In the weeks since their escape from the lord’s castle, he had not once been plagued by dreams of falling, not when he knew he was capable of soaring. Instead, he found himself plagued by a pesky dragon, who was now ambling about the cave they had settled in.

      “You shouldn’t be up,” he muttered grumpily, forcing himself to sit up rather than fall back asleep. “You’re still healing.”

      “I’m fine now. We heal fast,” Bond replied smugly, conveniently forgetting that the reason why they had been laid up in this cave for the last few weeks was so that he could recover properly. The other dragon was like a squabbling child at times, refusing to sit still once the boredom set in. Which it did, so often that Q was tempted to either shove Bond out of the cave, or to turn full dragon and sit on the stubborn bastard until he gave in.

      Still, there was a part of him that was grateful to see Bond moving about like this. Q had truly feared that the other dragon would die as a result of his injuries, but luckily dragons (or at least James Bond) were hardier creatures than he had given them credit for. It did not take long for the open wounds to close, although they left faint scars that Q could not help but run his hands along in silent regret whenever the other dragon was asleep.

      Bond had caught him once, not a surprise given how observant the dragon was even in the deepest of sleeps. He had been startled when a hand closed over his, trapping it against the other dragon’s chest so that he could feel the strong, steady heartbeat. Then Bond’s other arm had pulled him down so that they were face to face, the dragon’s hot breath against his cheek.

      That was how they had slept ever since, curled into each other. It should have been uncomfortable, especially since Q was not used to sleeping with another, but when it came to Bond, it merely felt… right.

      It was one of the few things in his world that felt right at the moment, as he came to terms with what he _was_.

      Bond accepted it so readily, that Q was also a shape-shifter. It explained a lot, the other dragon rationalized, such as his success as a dragon tamer. Even though the dragons he had worked with did not seem to know his true nature, they must have sensed it innately, which was why they submitted to his will so readily.

      Q was not sure how he felt about his success being premised on what he was rather than what he _did_ , the skills and lessons imparted to him from Boothroyd. He was even less sure about how he felt about Boothroyd. Had his mentor known what he was? That he was a dragon who had fallen from the sky, losing his own sense of being in the process? Had Boothroyd then done something to him to keep him from remembering, and if so, why? To keep him tame, as the old man had done to other dragons? To use him, as White had wanted to do to Bond? Or to protect him from the dangers that surrounded him, from what people would do to him if they knew what he was?

      He had no way of asking Boothroyd any of those things now. All he could do was depend on his memories of the man, and of their relationship throughout the years. He did not want his doubts to taint those memories, especially when Boothroyd had never treated him as anything but a son. Not once had the man asked anything of him, except that he stay safe.

      And yet he _must_ have known something. Why else would he be so reluctant to give Q his name? Why else would he not be surprised when as a child, Q had finally admitted that the reason why he did not want to sleep was because that was when he would fall? It was only now that he realized that he did not dream so much as remember, the latent memories of when he used to have wings (and when he had lost them) plaguing his subconscious. If Boothroyd had known that already, shouldn’t he have said something? Perhaps he had intended to, but had been afraid of losing his son, and had told himself that he would explain things… eventually. But then ‘eventually’ had been taken from them too, and for all his doubts, he found himself missing the old man so desperately that it _hurt_.

      Q jerked as a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Bond staring down at him. “You’re brooding again.”

      He nearly squirmed under the other dragon’s intense stare, but it didn’t stop him from replying tartly, “How can I possibly brood when you keep interrupting my thoughts, Bond?”

      “Do you really find me that distracting?” Bond replied with a sultry grin. Despite himself, Q couldn’t help but smile back, especially when the other dragon settled next to him, staring intently at his profile. “Why do you torture yourself so? You know he cared about you, for your sake.”

      Q did not need to ask how Bond knew exactly who he was thinking about, but he did have to ask this. “Is that what you think about Vesper too?”

      Bond was silent. The other dragon’s feelings on Vesper Lynd were… complicated, to say the least. Bond knew that she had been willing to die for him, but it didn’t necessarily erase why she had sought him out in the first place. Her initial betrayal tainted his memories of her just as these questions about what Boothroyd knew tainted Q’s memories of the man, and that was something that they would both have to live with.

      But live, they would. Q turned to look at Bond, just in time for Bond to lean in close. The kiss was gentle yet all-encompassing, letting him push away his pain and doubts over his past to focus on what was before him now. It felt like a promise, and even when they broke apart, they did not stray far from each other as Q rested his head against Bond’s chest.

      “It’s time,” Bond said, right when Q was about to doze off. He looked up at the other dragon, who was staring at the mouth of the cave, and at the sky that beckoned them forward. “Are you ready?”

      He did not know. But that did not stop him from standing, taking Bond’s hand and leading him outside until they were in the middle of the field. When Bond stepped aside to give him the room he needed, he felt both lonely and _scared_. He had not done this since they were falling, and if he was honest with himself, it was because the dragon within still felt like a wholly separate being.

      But it wasn’t. The dragon wasn’t a part of him; the dragon _was_ him, and as he accepted that reality, he could feel his limbs elongating and the wings bursting from his back, changing his presence completely. The sun now warmed his entire body in a way that he had never felt before, and when he twisted his long neck to stare at the sun, he wondered what it would be like to get close to it.

      He did not stop looking, even when Bond strolled up next to him. The shift came easily for the other dragon, and the gold that glinted off of him was no less painful to behold as a dragon than it had been when he was human. His lip curled, the closest it could come to a smirk, as he thought, _I still think we should rename you Peacock. You certainly preen as much as one._

      That earned him a nip on the wing. _You are not one to talk, kitten._

      Q responded with a swat of his tail, but Bond just laughed, taking off into the air with a mighty beat of his wings. The dragon’s flight was wondrous to behold, but Q was no longer limited to simply watching. He was no longer bound to the earth by dreams of falling, and so he did not hesitate, following Bond into the sky and the freedom its endless expanse offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed. :)
> 
> For more ficlets, deleted scenes, and babbling about writing (or lack thereof), I can be found at http://pikachumaniac.tumblr.com/.


End file.
